


Willow Maiden

by Blaiddyd_Queso



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Parent-Child Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27039568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaiddyd_Queso/pseuds/Blaiddyd_Queso
Summary: They stood under the tree, resting on the crooked root that was more swirled now.  Under sunlight, he can appreciate the dark shade of blue from their hair and finally distinguish a dark tunic under the cloak with matching boots of tough leather.“You’ve returned. Why?” They ask, though this time their voice invades his ears instead of his head. Their vibrato was deep, yet brought an odd serenity to his heart. They felt from this realm, and at the same time not. He can only guess they are close to age, “I’m not the one for who you mortals pray to.”He holds the remaining bouquet with both hands, “Who are you?” A simple question that is met with a passive stare from them. It was terrifying.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	Willow Maiden

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist prompt four of #Dimilethweek2020. 
> 
> This story takes references and a few lyrics from the sung fairytales by Erutan. Though I won't be approaching the death dove of them. 
> 
> [The Willow Maid](https://youtu.be/zmxJbz-o-Ak)  
> [Winter Moon](https://youtu.be/iXgJXSamtIc)  
> [Round and round ](https://youtu.be/3Z4cgXrVKMI)
> 
> This story mentions real goddesses from Welsh culture since I love all the Welsh references Faerghus has. It's a personal HC and I mean no disrespect to the culture.
> 
> Byleth is based on a Fairy Reaper, and has no connection with the Fae. But please, be respectful to the Fae and don't contact them without prior knowledge or training sjkkjajaj.
> 
> [Arianrhod ](https://feminismandreligion.com/2013/02/23/arianrhod-celtic-star-goddess-2/)  
> [Murigen ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murigen)
> 
> "fy mab" & "nhad" translate to "my son" & "father" respectively. 
> 
> Lastly, thank you so much to [@thestarchasr ](https://twitter.com/thestarchasr) for their support.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \----  
> Warnings for the chapter: Blood, Violence, Near Death Experiences, Suicidal thoughts.
> 
> Please don't read ahead if your health may be in danger.
> 
> \---

* * *

**See me now, a ray of light in the moondance**

**See me now, I cannot leave this place**

  
  


Dimitri sees them when he’s barely seven.

It’s a rare warm spring night. His proud and strong father has made them visit the family tomb that lays protected by a large willow tree. Particularly, they are here to leave an offering of warm tea and a bouquet that hosted beautiful white lilies. 

The flowers go over a tombstone, covering the death date of the late queen. The tea rests on a nearby crooked root from the tree. 

“Father,” Dimitri hushes, not looking away from blues familiar to the midnight sky. “Is the tea for them?” His nose scrunches as his eyebrows furrow, holding down to his father’s cloak. 

Lambert laughs softly, “No, fy mab.” His hand rests over Dimitri’s head, moving a few threads of blond behind his red ear. He believed his son was speaking of his late wife, “The tea is an offering for the goddess, who has protected our family since the beginning of this kingdom’s foundation.”

“Goddess Sothis?” Dimitri asks, prying his eyes away from the small individual that wears a black cloak that hides all form, only a large golden medallion rests on their chest. Short hair shines with moonlight’s grace. 

Their eyes are intense. Overbearing as the large sword that rests on their back that appeared to be made of bone. 

“No,” Lambert’s nose wrinkles by how hard he smiled, “Goddess Arianrhod. She who graces us with moonlight, who taught us how to weave and gives our people the chance to create life.” 

“Goddess Arianrhod? Gustave and mama always mention Sothis.” Dimitri shakes his head, “The Book of Seiros doesn’t mention Arianrhod, nhad.”

“There are many things you can only learn and understand by the virtue of listening, and through the power of speech.” Lambert kneels, bringing Dimitri into his arms before giving a kiss to his cheek. He felt weak and warm at Dimitri’s relationship with Patricia, “There are many people in this land, Mitya. With different beliefs and ideals; it’s our duty to listen and protect them from those who wish them harm.”

“Mmm…” Dimitri hides in his father’s hair, “I like Goddess Sothis more, she has a kind face on parchment. Why does Goddess Arianrhod not blink, papa?”

Lambert pulls away to look at him, and verify if this was a first ever attempt of his sweet son trying to prank him; his eyes are earnest, and a shiver finally passes over the king’s back. His son was not a liar, “Goddess Arianrhod?” He looks everywhere around, but there is only them and the whistle of the wind; tall silver vases that host flame near them to provide extra light. “It’s just you and I, here.” He gives his back to the willow tree, meeting with the faraway figure of Gustave who awaited them with a few soldiers. “and them.”

“No, papa!” Dimitri points towards the bark of the willow tree, where the quiet person now sat on the crooked root. Their hand traced the steam coming out of the teacup. “She’s there! Looking at the tea!” 

Lambert’s eyes are full of concern now. He stares where Dimitri’s finger guides, and there is nothing.

Of course, there was nothing too when her late wife pointed to that same spot years ago; when they came to offer flowers in celebration of their pregnancy. Nobody expected all the misfortune that followed that incident.

His breathing is now elaborated, but with a puff from his nose he appears calm. “Is that so…” He stares intently, holding Dimitri closer to him. “Well, it’s best we let Arianrhod drink her tea in peace.”

Dimitri nodded lightly, and at the same time the other child shook their head. His head fell over his father’s shoulder as he walked away. Shyly, the boy lifted his hand to wave goodbye; and felt butterflies dance in his stomach as the person waved back with a small smile. 

He then heard their monotone voice whisper in his mind, three words that made him hold his father tighter.

_“I’m not Arianrhod.”_

  
  


* * *

  
  


Against his better judgment, Dimitri returns to his family tomb when he turns eleven; without his father, who no longer came to visit for reasons he refused to explain. With a sword by his hip and two bouquets in a hand, the young boy ventured through the private forest of his family until he met the sight of the willow tree; with leaves that never withered against the frostbite—they only became white.

With a gloved hand he cleans away the snow from the abandoned tombstone of his late mother, and lets the flowers rest. He takes the time to appreciate the beauty of the stone; despite the abandonment, the willow tree and the tomb were well kept.

With the corner of his eyes he sees the old tea set his father once brought, and there, he meets again with familiar midnight eyes that shine in serenity. 

They stood under the tree, resting on the crooked root that was more swirled now. Under sunlight, he can appreciate the dark shade of blue from their hair and finally distinguish a dark tunic under the cloak with matching boots of tough leather. 

“You’ve returned. Why?” They ask, though this time their voice invades his ears instead of his head. Their vibrato was deep, yet brought an odd serenity to his heart. They felt from this realm, and at the same time not. He can only guess they are close to age, “I’m not the one for who you mortals pray to.”

He holds the remaining bouquet with both hands, “Who are you?” A simple question that is met with a passive stare from them. It was terrifying.

“That’s not important.” They give their back to Dimitri, lifting the cup that only had snow and small leaves. “Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd does not belong here. Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Dimitri repeats. His stomach sank, “How do you know my name?”

“I know the name of all those who are birthed here,those who come by” They deposit the snow onto the land, “and of those who shall die here too.” The tea cup fell as well. “Listen to this willow, Dimitri. Or else, this maiden shall drag you under the earth.” She turns around with a small smirk, with eyes that were pitch black now. She can almost smell and taste his fear as her cape rises from her back, following the silhouette of what appeared to be wings. A pile of ashes forms right under, “Just as I did with your mother. Unless, do you wish to die before 1176?”

Dimitri let out a fearful shriek. Eyes watering as his scream was loud, rude and unprincely—matching with his sprint full of cowardice. 

The maiden let out a short laugh as she observed him go. When blond threads could not be seen, she sat on the tombstone. The flowers on the cold stone made her pointy ears buzz, while those laying on the snow forced a clutch to tighten in her chest.

She picks up the bouquet with care, passing her icy fingers over the small yellow flowers. Between the flowers, there is a small blue dagger.

For the first time, her cheeks feel warm; a ping of regret sinks into her heart.

* * *

  
  
  


**Hear me now, a strain of song in the forest**

**Don’t ask me, to follow where you lead**

It‘s Garland Moon. The day has a pleasant scent of wet grass.

“She’s not real. You’re lying,” Sylvain accuses Dimitri with a small grin, “I never thought you would get so jealous of Lady Cassandra accepting my hand in the ball, that you would go around inventing yourself a girlfriend!”

“It’s no lie,” Dimitri and Ingrid said in unison, before Ingrid slapped Sylvain’s arm with force. “She didn’t accept! His Highness would never lie either!”

“You need not hit me!” Sylvain pouted, looking at Felix who appears to be worried; unable to choose a side. “Felix, do you think there is really a maiden by the willow tree?”

Felix looks around nervously, “Dimitri doesn’t lie.” He reaches for Dimitri’s hand, “but if that girl speaks the truth, Dimitri is going to die soon!”

“Hey, no one is dying!” Sylvain puts a hand on Felix’s shoulder, giving him an affirmative squeeze. “Right, Your Highness?” He meets with twin blues, “This girl is just terrible at jokes and pranks, like you.”

Dimitri’s lips go thin and glares, but then nods. “Yes, I’m certain she’s just teasing me.” He murmurs.

“If she’s real.” Sylvain teases again with a grin. “If this girl was real, she would have already ran away in fear of your strength.” 

“She’s real! I can prove it to you!” Dimitri challenges, retrieving his hand from Felix’s, raising both arms with zeal. “Come with me, and I’ll show you!”

“We cannot go without permission!” Felix warns, holding down to Dimitri’s arm. “Mitya! Don’t listen to Sylvie, we believe you.”

“Let‘s go! We may find fresh grown mushrooms on the way!” Ingrid raises her arms too. “and I want to know when will Sylvain finally die!” She jests.

“No, Ing!” Felix protests, but gets dragged into the chase as the prince guides them through the courtyard and into the forest.

With a quiver and bow hanging on their backs, they soon met the willow tree that had small white buds barely blooming by a few leaves. All of them offer a bow to the royal family tomb before concentrating on the task ahead.

“Willow Maiden!” Dimitri calls in softly, leaving a bag of sweets near the crooked root. “I brought some friends so we can all play together.” He fidgets with the edges of his gloves, “I know I was rude to you last time, but...you really frightened me!” His voice breaks off softly on the last words, “Please, can you give me another chance? I promise we are not here to harm you.”

Sylvain crosses his arms with a grin. “Wow. You’re becoming quite the actor. I almost sniffed.”

Dimitri turns around, “I—I’m not acting.”

“Sure,” Sylvain approaches the tree, poking it with the start of his boot. “Come on, Dimitri. Just admit you’re trying to get back at us for laughing when Cassandra mistook you with a maiden.”

Ingrid laughs this time, and soon Felix joins her. Dimitri’s cheeks heat-up while he crosses his arms; while he wishes to keep protesting, his mind can only think of the girl who usually sat here and now she’s nowhere to be seen. The chill attempts to crawl into his bones when the yelp of Sylvain echoes in this forest.

“Something touched me!” Sylvain says, reaching to hold his butt. “Was it you, Ingrid?”

“As if!” Ingrid blushes and looks away.

Felix’s scream follows this time. Something had pulled at his hair. They bundled closer to each other, except for the prince who stood near the crooked root still. The willow tree’s leaves seemed to close in, hiding all daylight.

Then it was Ingrid’s turn to shout, when her pouch with mushrooms was suddenly gone. Before the children could look at each other, the long leaf vines of the willow tree shook, until one of them slapped Sylvain across the cheek.

Their screams echoed in unison, followed by their heavy steps as they ran away holding hands, leaving the prince behind who just stood there perplexed. Daylight creaked back to shine on him and the tomb, letting the gray sky to be seen. 

“You should follow them,” He heard her voice and turned around, meeting with the blue eyes he met the very first time. She was hiding behind the trunk, letting a hand and a part of her face show. “It’s not your time just yet.”

He seems to ignore the last part, “Why don’t you follow me?”

Her eyes darted away. Dimitri feels his hands warm, “I can’t follow where you lead.”

Dimitri looks at the ground this time, reaching for the bag that had a gift within. He takes a few steps ahead before offering it directly; his smile is bright when she takes it, though briefly he feels her icy touch on his palm. It is an awkward contact that both refuse to move away from.

“You’re cold,” He frowns, “There’s a pleasant fire in the castle.”

“I can’t follow where you lead.” She repeats.

Known to be stubborn, Dimitri only nods but removes his gloves; letting the pair rest over her ivory hand. 

Without another word, the boy ran after his friends; hoping they wouldn’t alert the guards or anyone from the castle.

As his boots splashed in puddles, he heard her mellow voice in his mind.

_“ Diolch...My name is Byleth. Please come visit me again, Dimitri.”_

He grinned.

* * *

**Be the night around me when the stars fall down**

**We’ll watch as the heavens turn round and round**

Dimitri lets his friends believe he had pranked them, even if that meant withstanding a harsh lecture from Gustave. He had disrespected the resting place of his ancestors and late mother.

His father gave him a disapproved stare, but during a shared meal he asks him to keep visiting the Willow Maiden; and to never forget a gift.

Today it was his 14th birthday, they hosted a ball in his name. He has never been good in social gatherings; and while his friends offer him support and company, soon enough he is running away from the celebration at the sight of his uncle trying to impress a girl that could be his daughter.

Wearing beautiful blues and whites, Dimitri avoids guards and visitors; a bouquet in a hand with a basket in the other. As his black boots jump over rocks that stay still in frozen rivers, he hears the distant crack of wood. 

Stepping into the weak path of snow, he meets with the King of Faerghus—his stare is icy as he frowns, a blunt contrast with Dimitri’s surprised visage.

“You eluded Glenn yet again,” Lambert states yet he still smiles. A basket was hanging on his left arm too, “and even Gustave...my son, do you not realize I too get chided by him whenever you leave the castle’s walls?”

“Father, please forgive me.” Dimitri offers a bow, “but I must see her.”

Lambert’s hand rests on his shoulder. Dimitri cannot read the sentiment that nests in his eyes; he has never seen it before. “Be good, my son. My horse waits by if the late moon tries to catch you off guard.”

The prince blinks but soon smiles, his happiness only growing as he receives a few head pats from the king as he walks away. He stays still to see his father jumping on the rocks he had used previously.

They wave at each other, standing on different points from the river. Dimitri turns away eagerly too soon, missing the sight of his father blowing him a kiss.

Expecting to repeat the routine of leaving the flowers for his mother and then to offer his gift, the prince is shocked when he meets the sight of a dancing Byleth. She sways under the willow there, while her clothes are no longer black—they host pretty dark blues and white fur on the edges, her wings were on display, revealing to be teal just like her hair. Dust still falls from them.

No, not dust. Ashes. 

His heart feels captured as she dances under the ray of moonlight, serene and beautiful. She meets his way, and with two gorgeous emeralds for eyes, she calls to him, “Dimitri!” Her feet bounced his way, stealing his hands to make him dance with her; his gifts were now on the floor. “Dance with me, there’s much to celebrate!” She says, and he still can’t say anything because he is too shy and surprised by their height difference. 

“P—Please give me a moment, Lady Byleth!” He stutters out. Edelgard had taught him to dance far too quickly and with little time to practice. “Where am I supposed to…” Hold her? She held both of his hands, forcing them to spin around in the snow, with the attitude of a child who can finally play.

She was wearing the gloves he had gifted her. 

His mind goes blank as one of her hands sneaks under his arm, lifting him up gently from the ground. Her wings flicked effortlessly, “It doesn’t matter!” She says, continuing their spinning though Dimitri’s feet now glided on the air; and the world was now pink as he stared at her face full of color.

She smiles, and his heart felt captive. “I can follow where you lead now!” Her words brought a smile to his face too, “we can be friends!”

The prince danced with the Willow Maiden all night, eating and drinking merrily away whenever they needed to rest. Dimitri returned upon dawn, arriving on his father’s horse with lips printed upon his left cheek. No matter how much Sylvain nagged to know who he had spent his night with, he greedily kept the memories as his own. 

However, Dimitri had missed the sight of something last night.

The tea cup by the crooked root was stained red along the rim.

* * *

  
  
  


The Flames of Duscur were agonizingly hot, yet the fear of regret truly made Lambert’s hands sweat.

Had he failed?

“Dimitri, don’t cry.” He told his son, covering the young boy with corpses to keep him safe from the brigands close by. “Be brave, my son. Everything shall be fine,” He said.

Dimitri knew he was lying. The strongest man he has ever known was bleeding profusely from a side; he can see the strain in his eyes and wrinkles, the grease of his hair showcases dehydration and weariness. 

But he couldn’t say a thing, for his father hid his head with a helmet. A helmet that used to belong to an old LionGuard.

With strain in his wounded legs, the king moved forward to the middle of this road. Holding down to a worn lance; and for the first time, Dimitri heard his father swear. 

“Come forth, bastards! Earn my death!” Lambert taunted at the gambit that was marching forward with raised axes and swords. He charges forward, creating a breach for his son to crawl away if needed.

In his mind, he can only ask him forgiveness for not being as strong as he believed him to be. 

Dimitri stays frozen, however. Mortified by the cry out of dying men and the scent of ashes waters his eyes, and his throat swells at hearing his father’s screams of battle and pain. He was too scared, too young.

“Please, help me…” A voice came from a body that should host no life anymore. Dimitri felt their breath by his ear. “Somebody…”

Sothis, Arianrhod. Can no goddess hear their plights? 

Dimitri curls into a ball, hiding further into the corpses and becoming one with their stench. He hears one last grunt from his father, and with eyes tightly shut he hears his plight full of despair, anger and regret.

“Avenge us! Those who killed us...Tear them apart! DESTROY THEM ALL!”

A large crack sounds off, but it wasn’t the king’s neck. Large thorns split the earth; summoning an earthquake that made bandits fall to the ground where large vines kept them trapped; a few screamed as they fell into the emptiness of the new made faults.

Lambert remained on his knees, briefly in shock before he rose. A sudden burst of adrenaline was coursing through his veins. “Mitya, Mitya.” He called for his son, hands moving away bodies of his once loyal soldiers; he felt hope as he found his son curled up. 

Another crack from the earth signifies the everlasting danger, “Dimitri,” He calls, and feels hope as Dimitri holds down while he picks him up. He was alive, alive. 

The king ran through the flames and cracks, feeling every ounce of shame in his pores at leaving creaking soldiers behind. He was too injured, tired and weak. His arms could only host Dimitri, could only concentrate on keeping his boy alive. 

“Your Majesty!” A familiar voice calls. Lambert feels a new sense of resurgence meeting Glenn’s face; and his horse. 

“Glenn...by the heavens, you’re alive!” The king calls, smiling even if it felt improper to do so. 

Before there could be any exchange of orders or questions, the earth cracked beneath them and the three Faerghus mortals screamed into the abyss. It was so quick, and yet their bodies felt embraced by soft long leaves of a willow tree—the scent of ash and death being replaced by a needed freshness. 

Being dragged through the cracks, they were finally settled on a lower part of the canyon. Where there were more injured men and their horses recovering breath and courage.

The sight of His Majesty and His Highness made a new resurgence of power bloom between them.

Lambert, could only stare now at the empty faults and cracks; and the lingering willow branches that held onto his waist to stop the rush of blood.

The Willow Maiden had kept her promise.

  
  


* * *

**Tears falls softly ‘neath the winter moon**

**Breathless, icy, bright daughter of the night.**

**Oh, who do you cry for?**

It was autumn. The month where beast appearances are common. 

Lambert was safe from beasts, but not of death. In his bed, he lays staring at the large yellow moon that gives him light besides the candles that rest nearby. He has ordered to be left alone— to die in peace; something many of his soldiers did not experience.

His weak blues stare at the woman who cries near his bed, bright tears splaying across his sheets.

It was the Willow Maiden.

“Forgive me, for failing you.” She said between croaks and tears, “You gave me your blood and it wasn’t enough to keep you alive.” Her sniffs hide between her fingers, “I failed you, just as I did to Late Queen Meredith. I knew that _wretch_ did not belong here...”

Byleth spoke of Lady Patricia—Anselma von Arundel. Byleth’s roots found her, escaping with brigands who were killing her once family on the other side of the field.

She delivered her a gruesome end in the pit of a fault. Her choice was now a double edge-sword for Dimitri, for she had killed the only one who knew the rest of those responsible for the King’s downfall.

It may be ironic that his thoughts connect properly until now, “I think I finally understand who you are, Byleth...” Lambert mumbles, with a peaceful smile. “Dry your tears, reaper fairy of Blaiddyd. I only asked for my son’s life to be spared...and you saved those of his knights too.” With a trembling hand, he moves hers away to clean a cheek. “and allowed for my body to be buried with my wife’s.”

He croaks a laugh, “Though I doubt she wishes me by her side, after my poor choices…”

There is silence, and one last bright tear falls unto the ground; a violet blooms. Byleth crouches down to pluck it, setting her goodbye gift inside Lambert’s hand.

“You have been tasked by Arianrhod to retrieve our souls, yet you have refused her orders a few times throughout the ages...haven’t you?” The fairy stares at him with downcast eyes and wings, “and she punished you by forging your fate to that old willow tree for eternity.”

He takes his hand back, letting it rest over his stomach. His hold is gentle, trying not to crush the flower. “Meredith gave her life for Dimitri and I. Now, I ask you to do the same with me; while I still have one to give. Protect Dimitri in my stead.” 

Byleth shook her head.

“Will you continue to feed from my family’s tomb then?” His smile reaches his eyes, “Well, either here or below the earth. It doesn’t matter where you get your sustain for my son’s safety. Give him many cwtches in my stead, he shall need them...”

“Please…” She comes closer to the bed again, “Don’t go.”

Lambert’s eyes were now still, as his smile.

With one last choked breath, Byleth unleashes her sword and casts it down upon his body; finally recollecting the soul she had been missing since the years of the plague.

She weeps keenly, in silence. Beneath the large moon. Her steps sound heavy and with anger, the beasts howl across the valleys that she soon joins with her kulning full of grief.

There’s only two Blaiddyds left.

* * *

**Come with me my maiden**

**Come from thy willow bed'**

**She looked at him serenely**

**And only shook her head.**

  
  


Dimitri’s eyes have lost all gleam. His hair is now cut to fit his longer jaw, and it was a form to get rid of his burnt hairs; an extra departure gift from The Tragedy of Duscur. 

It was raining, a winter’s cold shower that melts the snow but hits roughly on the skin. Knights would cover him with shields, while Rodrigue kept him from harm with part of his cloak. In a corner, he saw Glenn holding Felix and Ingrid close, Sylvain standing nearby. 

Nobody weeps, and for so he fights his tears as well. Though his princely facade almost breaks as his uncle gives him a soft touch on his shoulder. 

He feels the world stop as they lower his father’s body into the tomb, and stays frozen as multiple knights put over the large slate of stone that now had the Late King’s name. His eyes sting, but he cannot cry.

Less when Lady Cornelia stares at him.

Rodrigue’s and Rufus’ touch are not enough to make him feel safe to let go; they are futile against the infinite stares he receives from dead soldiers too, that silently curse him for staying alive. 

Between all the murmurs of hate, he hears a maiden’s soft weeping. At first he thought it was Ingrid’s, but soon looked upward to see a familiar figure by the multiple crooked roots of the willow tree.

The willow tree had lost many leaves, as if the wind had given it a forced haircut too. Wearing a familiar dark cloak that hid all shape and bright wings, Byleth sobbed in her arm; teal threads falling from shaking shoulders. Behind the watchful of the dead, Dimitri can only stare at her until she is the only one in his view.

His stare must have been icy, for her sobbings ceased and she looked at him with puffy emeralds and a nose full of snot.

_“Come here,”_ He thinks, and her eyes shine in recognition. 

With a frown, she shook her head before hiding away from his sight.

The rain became rougher, forcing for the funeral to end sooner; for a few, it was a breath of fresh air. Dimitri and Rodrigue were the last to leave, but in a chance where everyone nested in Castle Blaiddyd to spend the night with further thoughts of regret, the prince escaped.

Eluding Glenn and Gustave another time, using sheer determination and lack of self-preservation to cross the now flooded river, he arrived at his family’s tomb. 

With no flowers to offer to his family, less treats and presents for the Willow Maiden, Dimitri collapses over the cold stone; weeping with thunderous force against it. 

If Goddess Sothis nor Goddess Arianrhod listened to him, then perhaps Goddess Murigen will. He hopes that his cry outs summon her power to flood this river to where it reaches him here, letting him die in a watery grave. 

His eyes are pleading as the rain stops hitting his body, looking upward to where the willow’s leaves are reaching to offer shelter. He feels a presence beside him, and there’s nothing but surprise at the warmth that came from a dark cloak.

“Byleth…” His voice breaks, recognizing her weak snivelling. Her body collapses with his, bringing him against her chest.

She was warm, uncharacteristically warm—or finally, he was colder than her. Her digits felt like heaven, passing through his hair with no gloves. The rain soon ceased, moonlight creaking between dispersing gray clouds. His chest heaved while arms snared Byleth, hiding against her.

There was only the sound of rushing water, and her heart that pumped softly with _thump thump thump._

“You came…” He finally says, body finally feeling warm. “My willow maiden, you’re here…”

“From your side I shall not stray.” She says, tightening their cwtch.

“Promise me,” He begs, and with a shaky exhale he listens to Byleth’s words.

“I promise.”

Her hands warmed him on that frosty night until his body went limp, using her wings' fleeting strength to take him into Castle Blaiddyd;letting the lit furnace of his room warm him up further. 

By the window’s edge, Byleth observed the outsides. Her gaze meets with that of a woman with teal eyes and long orange hair; with a questionable low cut in her dress for such a chilly night and dreadful event.

The woman stands in the courtyard, and Byleth finally understands that she can see her. Her gaze doesn’t flinch as her name echoes in her mind.

_“Cornelia,”_ Byleth whispers, and the court mage loses her calm expression. “ _Leave.”_

She had never seen a mortal leave their spot so quickly in quite a long time. Cornelia’s presence brought many questions, but also a few new findings.

Mortals can now see her far too easily.

“By…” Dimitri calls in his sleep. “Byleth…” 

She answers to his soft beckoning, kneeling beside him to keep passing her fingers on his hair. As much that she wishes to stay beside him that night, she no longer can. 

To take refuge in the shadows and by the willow tree, will be her options now. 

In his hand, she sets the medallion that had been on her chest since the beginning. Finally, returning the gesture of the dagger that always rests by her hip now.

Her lips press against his cheek. A short farewell.

When the morning comes, Dimitri’s whole body aches, but the soreness is mitigated by grief. When the maids come to knock on his door, he ignores the call until he glimpses golden steel and willow branches by his pillow.

“Byleth,” He murmurs with a weak smile.

**Author's Note:**

> \---  
> [My cardd](https://blaiddydqueso.carrd.co/)  
> \---  
> Apologies if tags, grammar, and notes are constantly updated, there are kind people who give me feedback on certain things so I try to fix it right away. I'm sorry for those first readers who get to see this shit show so raw, you are truly the heroes of this community💕  
> \----  
> This story explores the characters from 3H. I apologize if anyone is offended with this interpretation.


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